Dark Water
by reflectiveless
Summary: A storm is coming and everyone is acting a bit on edge. John is having nightmares of a monstrous creature coming for him. Sherlock has a mysterious age-old fear that's come back to haunt him. Mycroft is keeping secrets that could explain everything. And as always, Lestrade is frustrated by everyone. Supernatural/ Horror/ Mystery/ Romance. The four generes that go best together..?
1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

It was on the battlefield that Captain John Watson first dreamt of dark water.

His tent and bedding seemed to fade away as water slowly surrounded him, drenching his clothes as the murky depths began to claim him as its own. John gasped for air that wasn't there and felt the sting of salty water trying to flood his throat. He kicked desperately at the current to find the surface, seeing only a vague glimmer somewhere far above. His breath was running out as he neared what he could only assume was moonlight. But mere inches away from breaching the surface, he was ripped back down. Something perfectly smooth had wrapped around his ankle and was pulling with a force even a soldier couldn't compete with. John quickly maneuvered himself around to pull the thing off, barely able to make out what the dark tentacle was. As soon as his mind could comprehend it, several more suddenly shot out all around him and enveloped him in their pure blackness.

John shot up from his bed in a cold sweat. His heart was pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely make out what his tent mate was saying to him.

"Oy, Watson! You gonna respond or what?"

John looked up at that, still in a confused daze from his sudden consciousness, "Sorry… what was that?"

The soldier only rolled his eyes, "I asked what you were havin such a fuss about in your sleep?"

John finally managed to catch his breath, seeing that he was dry and out of harms way now. "I was drowning." It still seemed so impossibly real.

"You're pretty safe from that here." The soldier gave a small chuckle. "No chance of drowning in a damn desert."

Safe. That was a funny thing to say when they were still in a war zone. But still, John relaxed a bit from those words. He was as far away from water as he could be with very little chance of coming near a large body of it any time soon.

It was later that same day that Captain John Watson was shot in left shoulder, the bullet narrowly missing his heart, and sent back to England on discharge.

Chapter 1

Despite his near death encounter, things had begun to pick up for Dr. John Watson. Life had moved rather fast when he found a new flat and perhaps the world's strangest flat-mate, but the action suited him just fine and before he even knew it, he found himself complacent in the flat of 221b with a man he could only describe as positively inhuman.

There was nothing ordinary about the detective, from odd eating habits to his exceptional brilliance. Though there were times where for a few moments, John wondered if it was more then a case of his flat-mate being a tad eccentric. When Sherlock would flash that deceiving smile of his to get his way, were his teeth a tad too pointed? Or was he just being ridiculous and looking far too much into it? He knew of course that must be the case, but still, John couldn't help feel a bit uneasy at times when those marbled sea foam eyes were on him.

* . *. *

John had just sat down to a nice hot cuppa when Sherlock ran past him in a flash, grabbing his coat and scarf. John had to hold onto his cup with both hands to prevent it from spilling.

"I suppose you have a case then?"

"We do," Sherlock flashed him one of those grins that could make John walk on water if he so desired it.

John sighed and put his mug down. At least there was never dull moment anymore. "Alright alright, let me grab a jumper at least." He stretched a bit as he stood up. It was far too early in the morning for a case. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"The Thames." Sherlock's face was illuminated by the glow of his phone as he typed something out on it.

This struck John as particularly odd as the flat was usually well lit. He glanced toward the window; the sky was nothing but dark clouds. Of course it was probably about to rain, making the river extra high- John froze. He had had that same dream again last night. The one where he was drowning. How had he forgotten that when he woke up?

"John?" Sherlock cocked his head as he looked at him, phone still in hand. "We really need to get there before any evidence is washed away."

"Right, of course…" John went to get his jumper and paused again. Maybe he could just tell him he wasn't up to it. That something had come up at work or he was getting a bit sick and shouldn't be out in this weather. No, that wouldn't work at all. Sherlock would of course see right through any lie he came up with and he really didn't want Sherlock prodding about as to why he didn't want to go. That brilliant git had to make everything so difficult.

Sherlock had held it in long enough for the cab to arrive at the crime scene before allowing himself to laugh. "John, you look utterly ridiculous. Its not even raining yet and you look like you've prepared for the storm of the century."

John huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. He was wearing a ridiculous yellow raincoat, boots, and a hat. "Maybe I just didn't want to get soaking wet. Your coat is going to get drenched."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Its just fabric, it will dry. And your boots wont save you from drowning." He smirked and stepped out onto the muddy shore.

The moment he had, he could smell it. Practically sense it in the salty air around them. It was that tingly sensation that meant a storm was coming. The Thames wasn't quite the ocean, but it was connected to it, and Sherlock's body ached for it.

John clenched his jaw at Sherlock's rude remark. He wasn't getting anywhere near the water if he could avoid it, but as he shuffled out of the cab, he noticed Sherlock's odd expression.

"Everything alright?" He nearly put a hand on the detective's shoulder, but something held him back.

Sherlock was staring at the water intensely, almost as though he was searching for something. His gaze snapped back to John in a nearly startling speed. "Stop dodeling, we need to hurry."

John huffed, "You're the one taking in the scenery." He muttered.

Forensics was already there, gathering as much as they could. Other investigators frantically searched the shore in case evidence had washed up elsewhere, but it was a race against the tide. A man lay nude, face down on the beach, body covered in lacerations.

"Some of these are post mortem, but most were before he died. Tortured?" Sherlock glanced at Lestrade, who seemed to be a bit of a nervous wreck.

"I really need you to figure this one out fast. I can't keep the body here for more then a few minutes longer. It could rain any time now and I need this body on route to the morgue before that." Greg fidgeted a bit with a notepad he was holding.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes a bit. "Its not the first body you've found? There's at least one other, more likely more that you think are connected."

"Stop deducing me or whatever you call it and focus on him," Lestrade gestured to the dead man. "I'll tell you the rest once he's on the road."

Sherlock was annoyed, he wanted far more details first, but they would have to wait. "His wrists were tied behind his back for an extended amount of time." The body still bore the rope burn on his wrists, his arm muscles clearly strained from the unnatural position. There were multiple knives used to inflict his injuries, though the main one appears to have been a fish gutting knife."

Lestrade was writing everything down, but he wanted something more solid. Some clue that could actually result in a lead.

"The wounds appear to all be of different varieties though. Some deep, others shallow. Most are right handed, but a few were made with a left hand. There were multiple attackers."

"Like a gang?" John came a bit closer. The body had clearly been in the water a while. Seaweed and barnacles clung to him. But it had been cold enough to partially preserve the remains.

Sherlock bent down closer to the body. There was something sticking out of the man's left shoulder. "A fish hook?"

John shrugged, "A gang of fishermen?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He does have a wedding ring on. We should see if anyone reported a missing husband recently."

A drop of rain fell on Lestrade's note pad. "Shit." He really needed more time. This was the third body in three weeks. He didn't want to find a fourth. "Bag it!" He called out as two forensics quickly got to work on taking the body away.

"Some kid found him like this." Greg groaned. "He could have been laying there all night. But now we have almost nothing to work with."

"Something more could still wash up," Sherlock was looking at the water again, eyes distant.

"If it does, I'll give you call. But I'm not sure how long I can keep people out here. Some big storm is supposed to come."

John's brow furrowed, "I never heard anything about a storm?"

"No one did, apparently. Just got reported this morning. Stealthed the weather satellites or something."

"Odd." John's heart sped up a bit. In his dream where he was drowning, there always seemed to be storm. He had never feared the water or bad weather before, but these dreams were relentless.

"Call us. We're leaving." Sherlock turned without so much as a goodbye, already switching his focus to his phone.

John had to do a bit of a jog to catch up with those damn long legs of his. "Hold on! We only just got here, they might find something any minute?"

"Then they'll call." Sherlock was typing something out.

"Yea but… well, its still rather rude." John genuinely liked him, but even then it was difficult at best to deal with Sherlock's lack of social understanding.

The detective didn't respond. He was busy huffing at new message he had received. John attempted to hail a cab as he looked down to see what it said. But as he looked back up, a black car had approached.

"How does he even know where we are?" John got in, knowing it was of course sent by Mycroft.

"He always knows… probably Lestrade though." Sherlock tossed his phone down, looking rather defeated as he slumped back the seat, looking at the ceiling.

"What does he want from us now?"

"Nothing, actually. Except perhaps to kill me with boredom." His eyes finally returned to John's. Those terrifyingly over analytical eyes. "He's meeting us at the flat. I'm about to be on house arrest."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mycroft was indeed inside of 221b already, grasping the handle of his umbrella as always as he sat on their couch.

"Make yourself at home, why don't you?" John tisked, annoyed that Mycroft thought he could just summon them back whenever he desired and come in uninvited.

Mycroft wore a tight smile, barely showing a sign that he had heard him. "I'll need you to stay here for a while without going out."

Sherlock immediately went into a scowl. "Why?!"

John flinched, he hadn't expected him to react so dramatically.

"Every time, you do this! Its absurd! I have cases to solve, work to be done. You can't just pop into my life when you like and pretend you have any hold over me!" Sherlock already looked as though he was close to throwing something.

Mycroft calmly stood up, twirling the handle of the umbrella in his hands. "Because it would be far safer for you here."

"There is absolutely no merit to your ridiculous claim and you can't keep me here." Sherlock practically spat.

"Hold on-" John wasn't sure if he was actually hearing what he thought he was hearing. " 'Every time' what?"

Neither brother spoke, they were locked into a staring match.

"Not every time there's a storm?" That actually would be absurd, Sherlock was right.

"Brother, tell your friend to leave us for a moment."

"Tell him yourself." Sherlock wasn't about to take the high road.

Really? John thought, crossing his arms at both their childish behaviors.

Mycroft caved, "Dr. Watson, would you mind if-" and of course Sherlock couldn't resist cutting him off.

"He's staying." His words were met with a somehow even more demanding look from the politician. "Anything you have to say to me, you may say in front of John." Sherlock was really trying his luck this time.

Mycroft's mouth tightened all the more as he tapped the metal tip of his umbrella on the floor. "Not this."

Sherlock looked at John in a calculating manor. "And what about you?" He had turned his gaze back on Mycroft. "How will you ride out this stupid storm?"

"In the safety of my home, as always."

"You mean in isolation." Sherlock shot back.

John had the intense feeling that he was missing whatever this fight was actually about.

"I don't have time to tell you again. I must return home. If you… insist on something more substantial to base my claims on, I'm afraid you'll have to let Dr. Watson leave us for some time."

"You're lying."

"Am I?"

"Proof of what exactly?" John looked between them both. Did they seriously intend on leaving him in the dark? Both the Holmes' seemed to be intentionally not looking his way now.

"John," Sherlock finally gave in, curiosity getting the better of him, "Would you make us some tea?"

So it really was that serious. John sighed, knowing it wasn't Sherlock's fault that he was being left out of the loop again. Besides, maybe that daft genius would explain himself later once Mycroft was gone. "Fine, but I hope you realize that Sherlock and I don't keep secrets from each other."

Sherlock didn't respond.

John tottered off to the kitchen, feeling rather uneasy about that. Was Moriarty back? He couldn't imagine anything else that warranted such behavior from the two of them. He turned the sink on, letting the water rush down from the tap and into the kettle. The back spray hitting him just a bit. Even indoors it seemed almost impossible to stay dry. John set the kettle on the stove, not being intentionally quiet necessarily, but if he happened to hear Mycroft and Sherlock talking, that was hardly his fault. After all, there was nothing much to do as he waited for the water to heat up.

But there was nothing. No angry shouts or outbursts. Nothing being thrown as he might have suspected. Not even whispers. John nearly peered around the corner of the kitchen to make sure they were still there when the kettle began whistling for him. Tea bags already in place, he poured three cups. The water turning dark from the brew. John felt his hands balling to fists at his sides, his uneasy feeling growing. He shook his head, needing to bring himself back out of this weird phobia he seemed to be developing. It was nothing more then a teacup and he needed to get ahold of himself. He carefully arranged the cups and a bowl of sugar on a tray before walking back towards the living room, making sure he didn't announce his return. But there was no tail end of a muffled conversation to be caught.

It looked as though neither of the two brothers had even moved. Sherlock was in his chair, his hands in his typical thinking position as looked at Mycroft with great intensity. Mycroft had a glimmer in his eyes, a nearly unperceivable twist at the corner of his mouth that gave away his amusement. What on earth had happened in the few moments that he was away, John wondered.

"Tea." He announced, setting the tray on the coffee table between the pair.

There was the feint sight of lightening from their window, likely still quite far off from them. Mycroft gripped the handle of his umbrella, twirling it once before standing. "Thank you Dr. Watson, but I'm afraid I really must go." He shot Sherlock a look. "Unless of course you would consider coming with, brother?"

John rolled his eyes, "I highly doubt anything could get him to go with you."

Again, Sherlock was quiet, clearly considering the offer. John blinked; he never thought he would see the day that Sherlock would honestly take that seriously.

"The flat is plenty safe and comfortable." Now was John's time to glare at the politician. He wanted Sherlock where he belonged, at home with him. He also wanted all this weird staring nonsense to stop.

"I'll stay in. For now." Sherlock finally stood, shredding his coat off.

John felt strangely relieved by that. Of course Sherlock wouldn't leave over some silly storm.

"You're sure of this?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Its not only your own safety you should be considering." John could have sworn that he glanced at him for a moment.

"Everything will be fine." Sherlock gave a dismissive hand gesture, which clearly displeased his brother. Sherlock huffed, "I'll call if… if anything should come up."

"I suppose that's the best I can expect from you. But if you wait too long, you may be on your own." Mycroft warned before leaving.

John frowned at the tea he had made that went untouched. "You gonna tell me what all that was about?"

"He's… concerned about me." Sherlock was looking out the window, gauging how much rain they were getting.

"He always is," John went for one of the cups, not wanting to waste his efforts. "But why this time? Its just a bit of rain. Besides, I know you too well, you're obviously not staying in just because he told you too."

Sherlock closed the curtains. "John, you may want to avoid me for a bit."

"Hm?" John looked up from his tea, not sure what Sherlock was talking about. If he were afraid of some storm, surely he would want him to stay in with him as well.

"Maybe even stay away from the flat a bit. Find some woman to take on dates and stay at her place for a few nights."

Sherlock was encouraging him to go on a date? Now he knew something was wrong. "I realize you don't know a lot about dating, but that's not exactly how it works. It's not really a hotel situation." John tried to rack his mind around why Sherlock should stay in and avoid people during this weather. "Are you prone to illness or something? I really don't mind. Besides, I am a doctor after all, it would be best if I was here to take care of you."

Sherlock's eyes flickered up to John's at that before looking away again. "I'm not sure if this really falls under something you could help with."

John's worry subsided a bit at that, so it was just some sickness he was prone to or something along those lines. "Its still better to have someone help take care of you then to be on your own, isn't it?"

"Perhaps," Sherlock seemed unsure. He let out a little growl, what was he even thinking, the odds of it happening seemed utterly impossible. And yet… what Mycroft had showed him had left him speechless. If it was true, if he was in fact what he feared he could be, he would of course have to tell John. There would be no other way around it if he wanted to keep him as a friend. Besides, there was no reason to believe he was dangerous, it was just Mycroft over reacting again.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

John couldn't help but notice that Sherlock was exceptionally fidgety the following morning. He seemed to be keeping tabs on the storm at every chance he could possibly get, though he refused to let John open the curtain.

"It may be a few days before its passed," John idly washed the dishes as Sherlock stewed in misery at the kitchen table, grunting in response.

The detective's phone pinged a moment later.

 _You never came for the case file yesterday. –GL_

 _You never called to say you had more evidence. –SH_

 _Well, I have some now, plus the files on the other two victims. I'm too tied up at the yard right now to bring them over, but you can pick them up any time. –GL_

Sherlock glanced at the closed curtain of the window where the pitter of rain was coming from.

 _I'll send John to pick them up. –SH_

John would have typically been more annoyed at being sent on some errand for his flat-mate, but he knew something was up with him and didn't want to press him too much about it. When he spotted Lestrade at the yard he couldn't help but think something had gotten into everyone lately.

The DI was at his desk with a large box of donuts and looking exceptionally down. More so then when he went through his divorce a while back, it seemed.

"This case is really that bad, is it?" John grabbed a chair, expecting some lengthy explanation.

"Ah, you're here. It's uh, not exactly the case on my mind right now." He didn't make eye contact with John at that and bent down to rifle through a few case files before pulling out three. "Here you are."

"Oh?" John took a look at the envelopes; one was the nude man that was found the day before. The others appeared to be another man and a woman found in similar fashions. "Well, it's not gender specific it seems."

Lestrade was already half way through a donut when John looked up at him.

"Ok, are you going to tell me what's wrong or are you gonna clam up and go quiet like everyone else?" He had really had enough of the bizarre behavior from everyone lately.

Lestrade blinked and quickly swallowed his bit of donut. "Wait, does Sherlock do it too?"

John cocked his head, not really sure where this conversation was about to go, "You're gonna have to be a lot more specific there."

"Er, nothing," Lestrade considered taking another bite to think of way to change topics, but he was also nearing the end of his own rope. "Sherlock sent you down, I take it?"

John leaned his chair back a bit, noticing it was still raining outside. "Yea, he's being strange, ever since Mycroft came over yesterday-"

Lestrade looked like he had just found the killer in a case, "Mycroft was at your flat? Yesterday?"

"Er, yes? He does do that sometimes?" John was thoroughly confused.

"Well what happened, what did he say?" Lestrade was now at the edge of his seat, although John had no idea why.

"It was just weird. He didn't want to talk in front of me, he just wanted to show Sherlock something and they made me leave the room? Then when I came back, Mycroft decided to leave."

"So he didn't stay long?" Lestrade sounded almost disappointed. "And he went home after that?"

"That's where he said he was going, yea. Why does this matter again?" John furrowed his brow, hoping some explanation to all of this was about to come.

"John," Lestrade had a long pause, as if he wasn't sure if he should ask him something or not. "Does Sherlock ever avoid leaving the flat? I mean, not because he just hates people, but, like he's afraid to? Or… during storms?"

Ok, now John was definitely interested. "Never? But then Mycroft was insisting that Sherlock stay home during the storm for his own good or something. Apparently it didn't matter if I went out for a swim in the Thames for all either of them cared though. But now Sherlock's moping about at the flat and sending me out to get files for him."

Lestrade let out a loud frustrated sound. "What's with that man?!"

John shrugged, "Sherlock's always been sort of-"

"Not him." Lestrade hung his head down.

"Hm?" John looked him over; Lestrade was clearly under a lot of stress and possibly stress eating. "Wait, you mean Mycroft? So, does he always do this during storms or something?"

Greg fiddled with his hands, clearly not wanting to explain himself too much. "He has… I don't know what it is but it's been driving me nuts. He carries that damn umbrella around everywhere he goes, you know. But then this weird thing about rain and storms started happening and then last year with that small storm that came in… he wouldn't even text me and-" Lestrade stopped and immediately looked away. "Sorry, I shouldn't be keeping you. You have to get back to your place and Sherlock… You still see him, right? I mean, he comes out of his room during storms and all that?"

John always thought Greg only ever contacted Mycroft to help keep tabs on Sherlock. Was it more then that? "Are you two… friends? You and Mycroft I mean?" He also never considered Mycroft to be agoraphobic before, but then he never exactly sat down and had a real conversation with the man either.

"Sort of. We talk sometimes." Greg just seemed down right depressed.

John wasn't about to put all of Sherlock's efforts to deduce people to complete waste though. Ok, so they talked? What else? Lestrade usually had nicer food then just a box of donuts; at least he typically did lately, not two years ago when he was still with his wife. Which seemed almost backwards, usually people only ate cheap junk when they weren't making or buying it for someone else. "Wait… do you two…" No, that couldn't be right. Besides, if it were, surely Sherlock would have noticed it by now. Of course he was also terribly horrible with sentiment and couldn't deduce a damn thing if he was somehow involved in his own deduction for some reason. But Mycroft? That was just absurd. Yet, Lestrade looked like he was hanging on whatever John was about to say next.

John gathered the case files up and stood, ready to leave. Lestrade noticeably relaxed. Yup, something was up. John looked at him again, trying his best to seem casual.

"Do you and Mycroft get food together a lot? Or does he just bring you breakfast?"

Lestrade looked as though he was about to jump out of his own skin. He quickly straightened his tie, as if that somehow made a difference. "No, no, not at all… I'm not even sure what-" John had this obnoxiously knowing look. "Its just business. He likes to discuss things over food sometimes, is all."

"What sort of things do you discuss?" Ok, he was having far too much fun, but seriously, this must have a way more logical explanation that what it sounded like.

Greg rolled his eyes, "Sherlock typically."

Ok, that was fair. But it didn't really explain everything. "But, you worry about him when he doesn't speak to you? Enough that you're binge eating?"

Lestrade frowned and pointedly closed the donut box. "I am _Not_ binge eating." He cleared his throat a bit, "Besides, I would worry about anyone who turns into a hermit and disappears during storms."

John really hoped that Sherlock didn't end up like that. He didn't want to go through whatever Greg was going through. He shrugged, so they were friends. It was odd, but not a big deal, they were just like Sherlock and him. "Well, I'll see you later, I'll let you know if Mycroft pops up again." He turned to leave.

Lestrade sighed openly. "Its not like that."

"Its really fine, just pulling your chain."

"He's like Sherlock. He's not interested in people like that."

"Oh." John supposed that made sense. Wait. " _OH."_ He was left without words, just standing there about to step out the door when Greg dropped THAT on him? He wasn't even sure how he was supposed to respond? 'Sorry?' "But… You had a wife?" Ok, that was absolutely not how he was supposed to respond, but still, the point stood.

Greg shrugged, far too casually at that. "And then we split up."

John looked at the open door. He could just go right now and pretend he never heard this. But obviously the DI had been bottling this up for some time and there must have been a part of him that wanted to talk about it or he never would have said anything. Shite. John closed the door to the office and took his seat back.

"So, she left because you like…"

"I left her because she was having affairs, actually." And of course Sherlock was the one to tell him.

John scrunched his nose up, "But… Mycroft?" Even if Greg was bisexual or pan, why him of people?

Greg chuckled, "He's not that bad. He's just… not interested in anyone. I thought it was his way of turning me down at first. But then Sherlock's the same."

"Wait, you haven't tried to date Sherlock, have you?" John puffed up a bit, eyes narrowing.

"No need to be jealous," Greg winked.

"Whoah, wait, I'm not jealous- I'm not even-"

"Myc is the only bloke I ever saw like this. Never cared much for any other guy."

John calmed down a bit at that, not that it mattered to him who Greg liked. Or who Sherlock dated. Obviously. "Not to sound like Sherlock, but if he doesn't feel the same, or like anyone for that matter, why don't you just move on? I mean, lots of other people out there after all." He really hoped that wasn't insensitive. But Mycroft wasn't really the type anyone should be pinning after.

Greg ran a hand through his hair, which seemed greyer then ever. "Maybe I'm just fooling myself. But sometimes… its as if he does feel the same? I don't know what's going on. After that first awkward time he turned me down, he kept asking me to 'discuss' things with him and taking me out to eat. He always paid. But after a while, his excuses seemed pretty flimsy." He chuckled fondly. "He didn't even give a reason for the last few times we went out. I even joked that it was a date once and he never corrected me."

John smiled, appreciating the dreamy expression on Lestrade's face. It had almost sounded like the way Sherlock treated him, always insisting they go out to eat even though the detective never ate a thing. Even going as far as to scare off John's dates so that he could be there instead. John furrowed his brow, no, this wasn't at all like Sherlock and him. Sherlock of course didn't want anything like, well, whatever it was that Mycroft wanted. Could he?

"Hold on, if he's not leaving his house, why don't you just go see him?" Seemed like the most obvious advice, John reasoned. "After all this time, you must have his address?"

Lestrade nervously ran the palm of his hands over his trousers. "I've thought about it…"

"Listen, what on earth you could see in _Mycroft_ of all people, is beyond me. But you both deserve to be happy. Maybe its not," he tried to think of a good way to word it, "Like other relationships. But maybe he just needs a push? He's the one that's been asking you to go places after all. He must see something in you."

"An asexual romantic," Greg sighed. "I fucking hope so. Don't think he knows it though." He looked back up at John. "You really think I should go see him? I'm not sure he'll like me just dropping in on him. Especially when he's paranoid over some damn storm."

"I promise to take the blame if he is upset."

"You're a real pal, you know that?" Greg practically beamed at him.

John scratched the back of his head, "just don't tell Sherlock I encouraged you two. He'll feel betrayed forever." He chuckled.

"Ugh, he can be a nightmare when it comes to Mycroft. But he'll get over it eventually."

John gave a small wave as he left, not looking forward at all to going home in this downpour.

Greg waited a bit after John left his office, sneaking out another donut to nibble from. He flicked his phone on and reread his last few messages to Mycroft.

'I hope you found the Café Renaud to your liking'. –MH

'I did. I enjoyed the company even better though. Maybe next time we could try dinner?' –GL

'I could find time to arrange that into my schedule.' –MH

Greg grinned at that. He had felt so very hopeful at that message. But it was after that, that he began to worry.

'Something has come up, I'm afraid I'll be rather busy the next few days.' –MH

'Does this have to do with the weather?' –GL

'Please, I just worry when you disappear on me.' -GL

'I assure you, I will be perfectly fine. But I will be unable to contact you until the storm has passed.' –MH

'You'll be at home then?' –GL

'I could come over? We wouldn't have to go anywhere. Just stay in.' –GL

'Or I could just check up on you? Bring you lunch for a change.' –GL

'Please Myc, I was in a full panic last time you did this.' -GL

Mycroft hadn't responded to his texts after that. Maybe he should just leave the politician alone if he wanted his privacy. But Greg just couldn't get over that uneasy feeling he had. He pressed the little green call button and held the phone up to his ear. The phone rang and rang, but no answer. He knew it was just paranoia, but he couldn't help but imagine scenarios where Mycroft was in trouble and needed his help. Or maybe that was more a wistful daydream of his where he could swoop in and save him? John was right, this thing between them was absurd and needed to be settled. Besides, going to Mycroft's house wasn't such a big deal. If Mycroft really didn't want to see him, he would just turn him away, or never open the door. The DI really hoped neither of those things would happen. But sitting around and not knowing for days on end might as well be the death of him.

Greg huffed and closed his donut box. "I'm just gonna go see him. It will be fine." He ran a hand over his midsection. "And stop binge eating junk…" Mycroft was always so hard on himself and trying to diet, and here he was keeping a whole donut shop in business.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

'Myc, I'm coming over. You don't have to let me in if you don't want, but I'm just worried about you and want to check up on you.' –GL

There was no reply. Two hours had gone by, Greg's shift at work ended and he arrived at Mycroft's town house, and there was still no reply. He had to do this, he told himself. It wasn't as if the grass was booby trapped or anything. Shite, was it? Probably not. Lestrade took a deep breath to get rid of his nerves. He just had to knock, if no one answered, then fine. If Mycroft, or anyone else did, then he would do everything he could to get to the bottom of this.

He flexed his hands a few times, making fists and then relaxing them. Going over what he would say in his mind if the door opened.

Sherlock paced across the flat as John was out retrieving his file. He didn't want to leave the flat, not with what Mycroft had showed him looming over him. Was it even safe for John to return? Probably. Maybe. He wasn't sure. It was the unsuredness that made him nervous. This was all new and he no idea what to expect. He adjusted the thermostat again. He felt like he was burning up despite how low the device already was. Perhaps that was part of his 'condition.' Or just nerves, hard to say.

He wanted to tell himself that this was all an elaborate prank on Mycroft's behalf, but a deeper part of him knew that it was far from it. He played back the conversation in his head from the day before.

'You're lying.'

'Am I?' Mycroft had been so smug about it. Sherlock sneered at the mere memory.

'Proof of what exactly?' Sherlock had known full well what Mycroft was talking about. But what proof could he possibly have? So there were a few questionable holes in their ancestry. A great great grandparent who had been a pirate with a few tall tales told about him. It was a fairy tale at best. But still, he needed to know whatever it was that Mycroft had wanted to show him. Besides, John would be more then happy to make them tea, and likely listen in. In fact, he had somewhat counted on it.

He was almost proud of John's reply. 'I hope you realize that Sherlock and I don't keep secrets from each other.' He liked to think that this was true. Well, sometimes it was necessary to hide drugs. Or how he would intimate John's dates at times. But that was all innocent enough. He never thought that _This_ would come up, after all.

Sherlock hadn't responded to him though. He couldn't. Because Mycroft had already done something utterly impossible.

The politician cocked his head to the side in a calculating manner when voice came from everywhere and no where at once.

'It happened before.' It hissed in Sherlock's head, the sound echoing strangely. It wasn't quite Mycroft's voice but close enough that he vaguely recognized it. 'Don't you remember?' The words seemed to bounce off the walls of Sherlock's very mind.

Sherlock nodded, seeing that Mycroft was grinning and obviously the source of where ever the hell that voice was coming from. Clearly John wasn't meant to hear them. But he remembered. He was 7 at the time and a much older boy had hit and kicked him, sending Sherlock to the ground. Mycroft came to his aid, but it had been to late. Something otherworldly had come over him as he grabbed the boy with a strength he had never known and pounded into him. The other boys and girls and sworn on their lives that Sherlock's eyes had gone solid black. The teachers dismissed it as hysterical children telling stories. But Mycroft had seen it. Made it a point of researching their heritage a bit more after that, but Sherlock never cared enough to hear him out. But there was something inside him that day at the playground. He had felt it squirming somewhere deep inside himself.

'It was more then just that.' The voice came again, almost as though it knew that Sherlock had quickly replayed the memory. 'There must have been other times.'

Sherlock's eyes flicked up to Mycroft's. His pupils were blown wide. Not unnaturally, but certainly strangely given their lighting. How was he making Sherlock hear him?

There were other times. Not that he had ever told anyone, not even Mycroft. He had tried being intimate with a boy at Uni before. It didn't end well. They had both been high at the time, which they later blamed for being the reason why it went wrong. They boy had pushed Sherlock onto the bed and kissed him deeply. It was clear what he wanted and Sherlock didn't mind. But as his trousers were pulled off, something inexplicable had happened. An almost ripping sensation at Sherlock's sides. Two massive black- Things- had grabbed the other boy. He screamed and begged to be released. The masses didn't want to let him go but finally relented after a few moments of the boy screaming. When he was, he grabbed his shirt and ran out the dormitory door at full speed.

Mycroft looked at him expectantly. 'You want your proof?' The voice hissed in Sherlock's head. The detective looked skeptical.

Mycroft flexed his wrist silently. The movement caught Sherlock's attention. There was something there, poking just outside of his sleeve. 'Storms bring about our cycle.' The limb came further out, a few suckers becoming visible as it coiled around the handle of the umbrella he held. 'I tried to tell myself it was in my mind last time. But this storm is far bigger. Its only right that I warn you, brother. I was-' There was a pause. 'uncontrollable last time.'

Sherlock couldn't take his eyes away from the thin red tentacle, even as he heard John approaching with the tea tray. The limb tucked its self away moments before John had entered. How could he possibly explain that to anyone? That there was some strange possibility that he wasn't quite human. He was a monster.

He was peering at his hands, being pulled from his memory for a moment. He wasn't sure where that thing on Mycroft had appeared from, let alone that voice that evidently only he could hear. He could almost hear its strange reverberations still as he sank onto the couch. The door of the flat opened and shut with a heavy thud, but he didn't turn to look. Obviously it was John with his file.

John was drenched and already starting to shed himself of his soaking rain coat. He was glad that Sherlock was still in the living room and not hiding away. Lestrade had actually made him rather worried.

"Thinking?" He had an uneasy smile as he set the file down in front of Sherlock.

But the detective said nothing, just continued to look at his hands. John was use to this sort of treatment however and headed off to change into something dryer. He wanted to be as far away from this wet business as possible. He kicked his shoes off and grabbed a bathroom towel for his hair when Sherlock's phone pinged.

John peered back into the room. "Is that Greg?"

Sherlock slid the phone lock off to check. "Mycroft."

John's eyebrows shot up a bit, remembering what Greg had said about not being able to contact him.

'You should come by.' -MH

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up a bit at that. When John had brought out the tea yesterday, there had been a strange almost strangled sound emitted through whatever way Mycroft was communicating to him. A desperate plea for Sherlock to join him.

'I thought you hated texting.' –SH

"Is he… ok?" John loomed closer, looking a bit nervous.

Those sea foam eyes of Sherlock's were on him in an instant. "Worried?"

John huffed and looked away, that gaze always made him so nervous. "Not exactly."

'In truth, I fear I don't quite trust my voice at the moment.' –MH

'It must be Christmas, I finally got my wish of you shutting up.' –SH

"Not exactly? But you are?" Sherlock wanted to tease him, but also didn't like the idea of John caring about his brother.

"Well, I'm not. He can get stuffed for all I care- the way he came in here yesterday."

Sherlock smiled; that was much better.

"Its… Its Greg actually. He's worried about him- I mean, I'm sure the prat is fine. But I'm worried about Greg worrying about him, I suppose."

"Why should Lestrade care what Mycroft wastes his time with?"

'Brother, you should know by know how serious this is.' –MH

John pinched the bridge of his nose. How was he going to explain this to Sherlock? It was hard enough getting him to understand human emotions and the concept of sentiment.

'Serious enough that I should hide in the dark with 'big brother' looking after me?' –SH

'Looking after wasn't exactly what I had in mind.' –MH

"Look, Greg- he cares about Mycroft is all." John stated slowly, doing his best to ignore the fact that Sherlock was crouched on the sofa texting for this awkward conversation.

"Care for?" He wasn't even bothering to look up from his phone anymore.

'And what do you have in mind? I thought you believed yourself and I to be 'dangerous' to be around. Are we to battle to the death? Could be amusing.' –SH

'We are unsafe as our cycle has come. It could be mutually beneficial to come to an understanding, however.' -MH

Sherlock furrowed his brow at that, what was Mycroft getting at?

"I know you don't quite understand these things and… that's ok, Lock. It really is. But Greg- he- Mycroft-" John felt like such an idiot. Why was this so bloody hard?

'Just come out with whatever it is that you want.' -SH

"Greg wants to be with him, romantically."

Sherlock scrunched his nose and immediately looked up. "What?"

John shrugged. "Its just what he wants. But Mycroft is- Mycroft." It did seem unusual for both Sherlock and his brother to be asexual or whatever they were, but he wasn't about to be the one to question it.

'To put it simply, it seems our age of maturity is simply later in life and it would be safer for us to mate then wait too long and force ourselves upon someone less capable of dealing with this.' –MH

Sherlock stared blankly at his phone.

"What's Mycroft saying anyway?"

"W-what?" Sherlock clicked the screen off.

"The phone, you said it was Mycroft? What's he want this time?"

Sherlock glanced back down at the phone for a moment. The memory of his incident at Uni in the forefront of his mind now. "Hm? Oh… nothing. He's just… nothing."

John furrowed his brow. That hadn't really sounded like nothing. "Its just that he apparently isn't talking to anyone. Greg keeps texting him."

"GREG." Sherlock repeated rather loudly.

"Er, yea? You were here for the conversation we were just having, right?"

'Lestrade.' –SH

'Pardon?' –MH

'Have your way with him and leave me the hell alone. I don't even want to know what jump of logic you were trying to make, but I will do us both the favor of forgetting you ever said it.' –SH

'If you're suggesting Gregory as a possible mate, I should inform you that I fear he may not survive. You have yet to experience the changes, but I assure you, they are neither explainable to people nor physically easy for them to handle.' –MH

'Then die alone for all I care. But THAT is not happening.' –SH

Sherlock threw his phone down, practically spitting venom.

"Er- everything ok?" John eyed where the phone landed, not sure how Sherlock's brother could have pissed him off so much this time.

Sherlock didn't respond but merely looked away, clearly sulking. What was he even suppose to say to John?

"Okay…" Obviously Sherlock didn't want to talk about it. "Listen, I… I know he wants you to stay at his place for a bit-"

Sherlock's head shot back up and looked at him with what might even be fear in his eyes.

Alright, so maybe that was what the texting had been about. "And I know it's really not any of my business,"

"It's not." Sherlock scowled, not at John per say, but in general.

John rolled his eyes, starting to get rather annoyed by this dismissive behavior. "But I would prefer it if you stayed here, if I have any say in it."

"I plan to."

"You do?" The tension immediately left John's voice again. "I mean, good. I… I just don't want to not hear from you and start worrying is all." End up like Greg pinning over him.

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "I… I might not be about too much."

John's expression fell a bit, but remained relatively optimistic. "You're inside though. Safe from the weather or whatever?" Wasn't that enough?

Mycroft's words were still in his head. Sherlock needed to know exactly what Mycroft meant by uncontrollable and unsafe. But he also didn't exactly feel like speaking to him. "That's not what I'm worried about, actually."

John sighed and grabbed his chair to sit and face Sherlock. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on? What your idiot of a brother wants?"

Sherlock's eyes slid away again and already John felt like the detective was retreating into isolation.

"Please Lock, I need to know. Is there… maybe something that could help?"

He really wasn't sure. Should he be researching octopi? Or was there no correspondence to those and what Mycroft had shown him. He wasn't sure, which was precisely why he should be researching and experimenting now.

"Possibly… I need to-" He paused. Something had caught his attention. There was consistent pattern of raining hitting against their windows. Even if the blinds were pulled shut, he could still hear it. He reached forward to catch a drop of water from John's hair. "You're wet."

"That's what happens when it's raining." How was his flatmate suppose to be a genius again? "I should probably dry it off a bit more. Sherlock? Are you alright?"

Sherlock was completely fixated, his finger tips starting to wander through John's soggy hair a bit more.

John swallowed thickly. The look Sherlock had on his face was eerily similar to yesterday when they were at the beach. The way he stared off at the Thames had been strange enough, almost forgetting he had done it at all immediately after.

"John" Sherlock's voice sounded strangely off, almost like an echo. "You'll catch a cold like this."

Was it just in John's mind or was the corner of Sherlock's mouth twisting upwards a bit? Just barely, but he could still see it. Like he was bad at covering a smile, something he knew for a fact that Sherlock was actually exceptionally great at.

John quickly stood, "You're right," Something about his friend was alarming him now. "I'll dry it off a bit more."

Sherlock stood as well, head tilting to the side a bit. "Fragile…"

"Hm?" John wasn't sure what he meant by that.

"You should stay in," Sherlock glanced at the window, the same distant look still in his eyes. "For safety." He smiled, but it looked quite unnatural on him now. His pupils seeming larger then normal.

"I still have to do some shopping, we cant just stay here all day with nothing to eat. Besides, I have a job too, though you always seem to forget about it."

"We'll need food." Sherlock dismissed the second part of what John said.

"Seriously Lock, you're starting to weird me out a bit, what's going on?"

Sherlock blinked, his pupils returning to normal. He was a bit alarmed that he seemed to now be standing before remembering what had just occurred. It was like he was in a strange daze. "I'll be in my room." He attempted to quickly pass John and make it to his doorway.

John stopped him, grabbing Sherlock before he could sneak off. "You're not hiding away that easily."

"I'm hardly hiding," He huffed, feigning irritation.

"You left your phone on the ground, you never go anywhere without it. And bloody hell, Sherlock," He put his hand to the detective's forehead. "You're burning up!"

"I'm fine," Sherlock swayed for a moment and fell into him a bit.

"That's it. Bed. Now." John demanded, guiding Sherlock to his room and making sure he got into bed. "I swear to god, if you even think about locking the door, I will knock it down." Sherlock was really not looking well now. "Stay here, I'm bringing you water."

"and my phone?"

John rolled his eyes, "I'll bring it."

Sherlock shot back up for a moment. "Don't open it."

John blinked, "Alright."

"I mean it, don't you dare."

"I wont, Lock. I promise. You just need to calm down." John gently pushed Sherlock back against the bed. "I think you have a fever." Which would probably explain some of his odder then normal behavior.

Greg had waited several minutes and even knocked two additional times, but there was no answer. He tried calling, but of course, Mycroft never picked up and the phone merely went to voicemail.

"Myc please…. I'm just worried. At least message my phone that you're in there?" Greg was fairly certain he could hear something, now that he was listening. It was difficult to tell with the light rain still falling around him, but there was the sound of rushing water from inside. "Mycroft?" His hand wandered to the handle of the door, he didn't expect anything from it, but to his surprise it was unlocked. Which seemed exceptionally unusual for someone who seemed constantly paranoid about 'security.'

Lestrade opened the door, not sure if he should wander in or not. He certainly didn't want to be on the politician's bad side. "Myc?" He called out again from the door step. The house was rather dark, it seemed as though there wasn't a single light on.

There was a sound like a person moaning. He wasn't entirely sure that it was Mycroft or if it even meant anything, but it seemed like probable cause enough to him. He quickly stepped in, shutting the door to the rain behind him. His clothes were dripping on the floor, which he didn't have much time to help. He quickly attempted to shrug off his coat and hang it up, but his mind was still frantic.

"Mycroft?!" He went towards the sound of running water without looking for a light switch and found himself in a kitchen. He had no idea what the lay out of the house was or where he might find anything in it. He soon realized the sound had been coming from the sink, which was inexplicably left on and was gushing out water. The basin was completely full as water spilled out and onto the floor. This was certainly not a good sign.

Greg turned the sink off, worried as to why Mycroft would have left it on for so long, or why the front door was unlocked. That's when he noticed it. A knife block on the kitchen counter, a rather large one with numerous slots for knives. Yet, not a single knife was in it. Had they all been taken out? Even in defense, a person would only need one.

It was a trap.

Lestrade quickly turned, "MYC-" He froze.

There in the door way stood a tall silhouette. "I worried you might not come." The voice seemed to buzz inside Greg's head in an unnatural way.

"You're door… it was unlocked…" Clearly he was mistaken. Why would Mycroft try to trick him into coming in?

"I know." He stepped closer, a grin widening on his face.

Greg felt the natural urge to back up, which forced him against the sink, more water spilling out. "I thought… you didn't want me coming over?"

"Not at that time, I didn't." As he approached, Greg realized that Mycroft's clothes were soaking wet. Not like his own from standing in the rain, but as if he had been submerged in water.

Lestrade was torn. Clearly something wasn't right. Was Mycroft unstable? Yet, there was something in the way he spoke that chilled him to the core.

"Should I go, then?" He almost hated himself for saying it. He had finally gotten inside and seen Mycroft, who might even be ill, and he was just going to leave him?

"You would come all this way to leave?" Mycroft's feigned hurt, his mouth going into an obviously fake pout. "But no, you'll be staying."

It wasn't a request. It was a statement.

"You're clothes…" Greg swallowed, still not able to put his finger on what exactly was the most off putting part of this. "we should find you something dry to wear."

"Already trying to get my shirt off? Really Inspector Detective, you should at least offer me a glass of wine first." He cocked his head curiously, watching Greg's every little movement.

Mycorft Holmes made a sexual innuendo? To him? Was this man even the real Mycroft? It seemed absurd to even think, but even his voice was somehow just off. Greg scanned the room, but there was nothing sharp in it. Nothing to even defend one's self. He eventually looked back at the man who was now only a couple of feet away. His vision adjusting to the darkness finally.

"You're eyes…" He whispered, though he could tell Mycroft could hear him from his now fallen expression.

"What about my eyes?" It came out quite aggressively. He barely gave Greg a moment to answer before he sprung for him, trying his best to grab the DI by the waist.

But Lestrade had anticipated it and leapt out of the way, almost not making it. He stumbled through the dark room in an attempt to find his way back to the front door.

Mycroft's eyes were solid black. Even the white part was entirely consumed by it.

He could hear Mycroft following, though his pace was far from rushed. He was almost casual about the way he followed him. Greg had a sinking feeling from that, he almost knew before he grabbed the door handle again. Locked. Of course it had been.

The door was unlocked when he first entered, a strange sound lured him in. The sink left on in a room void of anything he could defend himself with. This was all set up for him. He had even been foolish enough to cry out to Mycroft at every chance he had so his attacked knew exactly where he was at all times.

"Trying to leave? I told you, Gregory. You're staying." Mycroft's voice hissed out, its strange echo effect pounding in Lestrade's head.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Myc, please-" Greg knew he must be pretty desperate if he was even considering this tactic. "You're not well, you need help."

"I need nothing of the sort," His solid black eyes were absolutely piercing.

Lestrade felt as though he could be swallowed up by their vast emptiness. "I don't want to loose you, not like this."

"You wont lose me," Mycroft's voice softened a bit at that as he stepped closer, cornering Greg in.

Greg held his breath, his heart racing faster then it ever had. This could be his only chance to get Mycroft while he was off guard. Surely he had a weapon on him somewhere, and he doubted the politician had much training in physical defense, though he couldn't be certain. The second he saw his chance, he attempted to rush at him, hoping to find a knife or anything. He would just escape, not hurt him, then seek medical professionals for him.

Mycroft was shoved against the doorway, his breath leaving him for a moment as he was winded. He bared his teeth, clearly furious now. Greg hadn't found anything on him in his moment and decided to quickly run for it, perhaps there was a window somewhere he could smash through. But as he attempted to turn tail and run, something quickly coiled around his ankle and tripped him, sending him smashing into the floor and dragged back wards.

Above him, Mycroft was grinning, his teeth looking far too sharp to be normal.

"I would advice against making me angry."

Lestrade attempted to rip his leg from whatever was grasping it, but the appendage only tightened its grip and yanked him back.

Greg rolled over to his back, seeing for the first time what had grabbed him. He reflexively pulled his leg back again at the sight, still to no avail. The tip of the thick tentacle around his ankle was a brighter red then the deep crimson at its base where it disappeared somewhere behind Mycroft's back. Mycroft scowled at Lestrade's obvious fear.

The DI desperately grabbed at a potted plant and attempted to throw it at his attacker, but another tentacle quickly shot out to grab the pot.

"Fuck-" There were more of those things.

Greg struggled against the two limbs, the suction cups on his ankle grasping him hard enough to leave marks. An amused smile returned to Mycroft's lips as he watched Greg fail. Another tentacle came out and gingerly took the pot, placing it gently back on the ground.

"I suggest you start behaving yourself."

"What do you want?!" Greg was nearly frozen with shock, but there had to be something. "You don't have to do this. I can- I can help you-" He hoped, "Just let me?"

 _"_ _Help?"_ Mycroft purred, "I fully intend to take you up on that offer."

The tentacle on Greg's ankle stayed put as the other two grasped his wrists.

"What are you-" Greg struggled against them, the suckers marking him there as well now. A fourth tentacle came out, wrapping its length around Greg's waist. Mycroft attempted to lift him up, but the weight proved to be too much for him as Greg thudded back on to the ground, his head hitting the marble entrance. As much as his head was now ponding, it was useful to remember that these things couldn't quite lift him. Mycroft huffed in irritation; he didn't want to injure Gregory. He wasn't strong enough to lift him yet, but perhaps soon. Until then, he would just have to make due.

Another tentacle coiled around his waist, joining the first one as Mycroft began dragging him off through a hallway. Greg tried his best to grab at doors the passed by for leverage, but the appendages around his wrists were far too strong to fight off. They were nearing the end of the hallway when he managed to at least get his captured wrists closer to his face. Greg craned his head forward and bit deep into one of the tentacles. The one on Greg's wrist immediately pulled away, freeing him for a moment as the other trembled in pain. Mycroft let out a painful shriek and crumpled to his knees as his eyes squeezed shut. Despite his circumstances, Greg actually felt bad about doing it. Somewhere in there was still the man he cared very deeply for.

Mycroft's eyes snapped back open, their piercing blackness staring at him. The tentacle that Greg had bitten shot forward, forcing its way into his mouth now. Lestrade squirmed, his hands immediately grabbing the thing and trying to rip it out of him. But the digit was far too strong for that and only forced its way deeper, the tapered edge making it to the opening is his throat as his eyes began watering. He tried screaming for Mycroft to stop, but the damn thing was blocking him from speaking. The tentacle that had previously been around his other wrist came back and soothingly stroked his hair, though Greg was too occupied trying to pull the first tentacle out of his mouth to even bother with that one.

"This will be easier if you relax." The tentacle tilted Greg's chin up to force him to look at him.

"MMMPH!" Greg tried to bite down on the tentacle again, but the thicker end of it was now forcing his mouth too wide and he couldn't manage it.

Mycroft's eyes slid slightly shut at the attempt however, a small sound escaping him. Lestrade's brow furrowed, that hadn't exactly sounded like he was in any pain. He tried the action again, his tongue awkwardly sliding to the side of the damn thing as the limb had forced it down. This time however, Mycroft pressed two tentacles down on him, forcing Greg flat on the floor as he drew closer.

"Ahhh Gregory… at least wait for me to get you to the bed."

Greg flushed nearly as red as the tentacles on him. Was Mycroft getting off on that?

The two thick coils around Greg's waist pulled him closer to Mycroft as he wrapped his arms around him to pick him up. Two smaller tentacles fastened themselves back around Greg's wrists just in case as the taller man carried him inside the room at the end of the hall. It was a posh bedroom with overly elaborate furnishings and a decadent bed. Even gagged, Greg rolled his eyes at the over kill of it, of course this was where Mycroft slept.

Mycroft began lowering Greg gently onto the bed when Greg's tongue, annoyed from its lack of space, flicked over the tip of the tentacle. The tentacle immediately squirmed as Mycroft's strength left him for another moment and dropped him again, though this time onto the soft bed.

"Greg-" His voice was clearly strained now.

Lestrade tried pulling his neck and head back, away from his attacker, and surprisingly Mycroft allowed this until almost all of the tentacle was out. But just as Greg thought he would finally be free of it, Mycroft quickly thrust it forward again and back into the welcoming wetness. The tentacle squirmed inside of him, now starting to gently thrust in and out of Greg's mouth as he tried getting away. But it seemed that this could be an easily exploitable weakness. The thick tentacles on Greg's waist and wrists were going lax as he focused on the on in his mouth. Maybe he could still escape after all.

Lestrade let his tongue stroke up the underside of the appendage, now gently sucking on it as Mycroft let out what even he could admit was a truly exquisite moan. Greg clenched his fists into the sheets beneath him, utterly annoyed at how hard this was making him. Fuck. He would just have to deal with that weird response later. Mycroft was so close to letting go now, he only had to keep teasing that tentacle for a bit longer.

The lower tentacle on his waist had let go entirely, the tip now sneaking down into his trousers. Greg wanted to thrash about to stop it, but he couldn't risk it. Just another moment, that was all he needed it. He swirled his tongue around Mycroft, knowing it might just be the finishing touch he needed to get all those damn things off him.

But instead, all of his tentacles tensed at once, especially the one in Greg's mouth before releasing its self inside of him. Greg now thrashed at full force against him as liquid poured into him from the tentacle tip, filling his mouth with something sickeningly sweet. He grabbed at the base of the tentacle again, trying to pull it out. But Mycroft looked as though he no longer cared as his other tentacles gyrated around him, gently caressing Greg's whole form.

Greg's grip loosened, his hands falling back against the bed in an overly relaxed fashion as his whole body felt numbingly weak. Mycroft cupped his face in his hands, watching him drink the fluid down with great satisfaction. Greg was faintly aware that the pounding in his head from where he hit it earlier had died down to nothing.

Mycroft began scattering light kissed from his cheeks to his neck. He began unbuttoning his shirt to trail them over his chest as well, the tentacle still pumping into him the whole time.

Greg barely managed to bring his hands up at all. He wanted to try to push Mycroft off of him, but they were so weak that they barely pressed against him. The other tentacles were now freely able to pull Greg's trousers off as a warm wetness covered his thighs.

He squirmed at the un-comfortableness, not sure what was happening to him at all. Two tentacle tips swirled around those slickening inner thighs teasingly as Mycroft's tongue flicked out over his lower lip.

"Fascinating…" The tentacle he had thrust down Greg's throat came out slowly and lifted Greg's weak hand, only to let it flop back down. Testing it's strength.

"You didn't know?" He managed to breath out, realizing that Mycroft hadn't pumped him full of only god knew what on purpose.

Mycroft's eyes darted down, away from Gregory's as he pretended not to hear him. He hadn't gained the opportunity to capture someone like this until now and didn't know all the possible affects yet. A curious tentacle wrapped around the base of Greg's cock, a sucker sticking to its underside.

"You may stop fooling yourself, as you're clearly aroused."

Lestrade scowled and had just enough strength to turn his head away.

Mycroft clenched his jaw and grabbed Greg's thighs hard, pulling him closer as the suckers left noticeable marks there. Greg did his best to weakly clutch at the bed below him, but it was no use, his strength was gone. The tentacle around his dick abruptly let go, sliding down his trembling body until reaching his entrance.

"MYCROFT! Please!" Lestrade yelped out as a last effort.

The tentacle surprisingly stilled. "You were the one that wanted this." The voice buzzed in Greg's head. "You said you wanted me…" The tentacle curled away a bit.

Greg could feel his heart breaking. He had wanted Mycroft, so badly that it pained him to even think of the politician. "You never wanted me back." He wasn't even sure if this soaking wet- _thing_ , was Mycroft. But he also knew that Myc had done everything to turn him down in the past.

"That's not true…" The buzzing died off, sounding more like a regular human voice now.

Lestrade looked up, the edges of Mycroft's eyes appeared white as the inky blackness diminished a bit.

"Myc?!" Was he really in there after all? This wasn't just some shape shifting who-knows-what in his shape?

The blackness sank away a bit more, his tentacles retreating as he tried to read Lestrade's expression.

"It is you. Oh fuck, I- I don't even know what to say." He was still horrified, yet relieved to know that there might be some way to help the elder Holmes brother.

Mycroft seemed suddenly uncomfortable and horrified in his own right. Only just realizing what he had been doing. It was too late now. Gregory knew he was a monster. He disentangled from his prey, ready to leave. "There's a key on the desk, you have to lock me in-"

"Myc," Lestrade could feel his strength returning slowly to him and grabbed Mycroft's shoulders. Even now, he couldn't let Mycroft retreat to solitude. "I have to know,"

Even as Mycroft tried to stand, a tentacle wrapped around a bed post, trying to prevent him. He was loosing control of them again, which generally was a bad sign he wouldn't be himself for long either.

"There isn't time! I cant stop them!"

"I have to know how you feel."

Another tentacle was making its way back up Greg's leg.

"This is hardly the time for such things!" He barely managed to get off the bed, standing at the foot of it now as his new limbs desperately tried to stop him.

Greg ignored them, he needed the truth before it drove him insane. "I don't know what the fuck is happening, and yea, there's kinda some freaky shit happening with you right now. But damn it Myc, I love you. I just have to know if this is mutual." He grabbed Mycroft's waist to pull him closer.

"Gregory! This is absurd! This is-" The desperate look on Lestrade's face was melting the heart he wasn't sure he even had. His voice softened, "I've always harbored… a certain fondness for you." This was still the worst possible time for a heart to heart. "and admittingly, certain desires to be with you. But, it was never- rather, I could never-" He tried to compose himself, which was quite difficult as his tentacles were greedily grabbing at Lestrade again, pulling him closer. "There are things I simply can not do." He whispered, "That I know are part of having a relationship."

Greg cupped one Mycroft's cheeks with hand, his thumb gently stroking his cheek bone. "I wouldn't mind, so long as we're together in any sense of the word."

Mycroft tried pulling back a bit, his breath hitching as his eyes darkened a bit. But Greg ignored it and pulled him closer for a light kiss. The dark of Mycroft's eyes consumed them again, however and soon he was forcing his way into that mouth.

"Myc," Greg moaned out, despite being a bit afraid.

Those undulating tentacles lowered them both back to the bed, two of them prodding at the detective's entrance. Greg's breath left him for a moment at that. It was hardly his first time, but the thought of being breached by such an appendage was wholly different. He couldn't imagine how the fully prehensile muscle would feel as it writhed inside him, hitting him at every angle. Lestrdae found that he was surprisingly ok with this suddenly. Somewhere in there it was still the man he had been pinning after for all this time.

Lestrdae bit his lower lip nervously; at least he was pretty sure it was still him. He reached out, lacing his hand with Mycroft's. He could swear those solid black eyes softened at that.


End file.
